Cross the Stars
by Cookie Fairy
Summary: The progression of Vulpes Inculta and the Courier's fragile relationship as tensions continue to boil across the Mojave.
1. Unforgivable

_A/N: This is a series of ficlets that take place within the game timeline.__ Enjoy, and do tell me what you think. Any sort of feedback is greatly appreciated. :D_

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**I: Unforgivable**

The Courier leers through the smoke. She has just had the brief acquaintance of one Oliver Swanick, lottery winner. His ramblings about winning has left her very confused, and now she finds the townspeople bound to crosses, delirious and near death. A great fire burns just ahead, forming a pillar of smoke high into the sky. She barely stifles a cough as soot enters her lungs. What the hell just happened?

Beyond the smoke, she sees men clad in crimson. Legion. Shit, should she run? The last place she wants to be in is in a circle of Legionaries with a sore ass.

Before she could take a step back, the man who seems to be their leader approaches her. His gait is proud and his eyes are just barely visible behind those dark goggles. He's the picture of calmness and intellect. Perhaps she can reason with him. She ignores the twist in her gut and decides to keep moving forward. She can't look frightened now.

"Don't worry. I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. It's useful that you happened by," he tells her. She's about ready to vomit on him. It must be the stench of burning flesh and blood. It's not fear. It can't be fear.

"I want you to witness the fate of the town of Nipton, to memorize every detail," he says almost poetically, "And then when you move on? I want you to teach everyone you meet the lessons Caesar's Legion taught here, especially any NCR troops you run across."

She asks him just what kinds of "lessons" are being taught here. Then comes the story of the lottery.

"Your crimes are unforgivable." She's surprised her voice came out even with the red she's seeing.

"As are all crimes. If you feel strongly about it, attack us, and soon you won't feel a thing."

Lilka brushes the two scars on her forehead. She is clearly outnumbered and they're just waiting for her to pounce. There's no way she could make it out of this one alive, no matter how lucky she is. She still has a score to settle with the man who gave here these scars. She didn't make it out of that grave in Goodsprings to lose to this bastard.

For now, she can do nothing but watch them walk away.

Well, there was one thing.

When the Legionaries are out of sight, the Courier turns and sets her eyes on the crucified victims. She pulls out her .22 silenced pistol and aims for their heads. One by one, she relieves them of their misery.

Lilka then surveys the town for any survivors. In the general store, she finds Boxcars.

Her anger peaks, and she finds one other thing she can do.

.oOo.

Vulpes has sent his troops ahead to the Legion Raid Camp nearby to round up the new slaves. Without question, the legionary recruits leave him behind. He makes his way back to Nipton. His finely trained intuition tells him the woman with the scars isn't done with him just yet.

Unforgivable. That's what she calls it. Vulpes allows a small smile to creep to his face. He's heard worse things from a woman, none that lived much longer afterwards. Granted those women weren't armed to the teeth. Neither did they walk with purpose in the face of death. It's admirable… for a woman.

Back in Nipton, he finds each person on the cross dead with one shot between the eyes. Clean shots. No hesitation. She has good aim. A few casings of .22LR rounds litter the ground beneath the crosses. The town seems to have been swept of any remaining supplies. She's scrounger as well, not too different from any other profligate.

The Legion mongrels in the town hall have been left alone, however. No sign of any other conflict is present. The broken man still skulks to himself inside the general store. He's looking a little better but otherwise unbothered. Not worth her time or his, he judges. She's chosen not to engage any of his men in combat either. It seems she only shoots at things that can't shoot back. He expects nothing more from the fainthearted.

The woman herself is nowhere to be seen. She's most likely made her way to the Mojave Outpost down south to do exactly what she was told. Vulpes feels a small sense of achievement. A woman could only put up a front before they yield to a Legionary's command.

Deciding he's learned enough, he returns to the Legion Raid Camp to rendezvous with the rest of the recruits.

Except there are no recruits to return to. They lay dead on the ground with shots between the eyes. Clean shots. No hesitation.

The newly acquired slaves are gone, and their supplies have been taken. Not too far from camp, he finds a used Stealth Boy and more casings of .22LR rounds. This is her work. The head of the Frumentarii isn't sure if his fists clench from fury or fascination.

A woman has outdone Vulpes Inculta.


	2. A for Effort

**II: A for Effort**

The Courier shoots the last of Benny's bodyguards. She's given Benny a chance, and that no-show flees the Strip with his tail between his legs. Scramsville her ass, she's gonna find him and do what she should've done all along.

Her blood runs hot as she slips past the elevator doors and shoves her way through the smoke-filled casino floor of the Tops. She avoids Swank and bursts through the exit, revenge and bloodlust flooding her mind. Nothing can stop her now.

And thenhe comes bearing the Mark of Caesar. The lottery man.

"You again? How did you find me here?"

"I am the greatest of his Caesar's Frumentarii. It was not a challenge to find you. Nor is this my first visit to the Strip."

Lilka is strangely happy to see him again. Truth be told, she hasn't stopped thinking about him since they met in Nipton. It's ridiculous. He's a murderer, a slaver, and above all, a jerkwad. She should be terrified. She should want him dead. She shouldn't be daydreaming about him nor should she be fantasizing about that sexy voice of his. That is exactly what _not_to do when encountering a Legionary who had just razed a whole town. Is she so depraved of available men that she's clinging to anyone who speaks to her?

But damn if he isn't handsome. They say men of the Legion are incredibly attractive, and this one did not disappoint. The light hits his finely chiseled face just so, and his steel blue eyes bore right into her soul. And did she mention how she loves men in suits? He picked a good one too. She was sure whatever was beneath that suit would not disappoint either. Then there was his _voice_. It drove her mad. She could listen to him talk of profligates and degenerates all day.

Fuck, of all men, why did it have to be him?

"Caesar awaits." His haste to leave broke her out of her reverie.

"I'm Lilka," she blurts out.

He keeps walking.

Lilka follows him, "If this is a trap, I'm going to take a lot of you with me." She was only half joking.

"The mighty Caesar has bestowed upon you his Mark and guaranteed safe-conduct. If he wanted you dead, you would be dead already. Now take care, woman. He grants his mercy only once. I would hate to see woman such as yourself waste away on a cross."

She feels a sudden surge of courage, "Was that a pass at me?"

He turns back, "Hard to say. You shot my men."

"Nothing personal. They were slavers."

Lilka swears the corners of his mouth tug upwards, but this is clearly going nowhere.

She speeds her walk and blocks his way, "So what if I'm kept from seeing your Caesar? It's a long and dangerous journey. I could get hurt."

His brows furrow, clearly annoyed. "Safe passage to the Fort includes protection should it be necessary."

Heat gathers in the Courier's cheeks and she doesn't hide her smile. "We should travel together."

"If rumors about you are anything to go by, you can take care of yourself. Should you meet your demise beforehand then perhaps you're not worth Caesar's time."

With that, he vanishes into the Vegas crowd.

Lilka could sink into the concrete. That was beyond stupid. Did she really believe she could recruit a Legionary as a companion?

She looks down at the Mark of Caesar in her hands.

"I tried," she mutters pathetically.

Still, she clutches the mark to her chest. A quick trip to the Fort shouldn't be too horrid. Is it bad that she's looking forward to it?


	3. Memento

_A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! This chapter ended up more inner monologuey than I planned, but wow is Vulpes fun to write. _

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**III: Memento**

Vulpes knows it isn't a coincidence that he was spared all those years ago when his tribe was wiped out. A man like him isn't to be wasted. He has talent and he knows it. He sees a worthwhile individual and he knows it.

He knows the Courier would be of great use to the Legion's cause. He hasn't forgotten Nipton, and he isn't deaf to the tales spreading through the wasteland of the heroic courier who saved Goodsprings and Novac either. She's made a name for herself. People can't stop talking about her. They're excited for her, however dissolute they are. It is with these accomplishments in mind that Vulpes Inculta the spy, infiltrator, eyes and ears of Caesar, recommended the courier named Lilka to the Son of Mars himself.

However, it seems the Courier has confuted Vulpes a second time. The woman who had burst through the Tops Casino is completely different from the one who had bruised his pride and whose amber eyes have haunted him ever since. The blushing and the coy smiling he had to suffer through don't befit the fierceness he imagined when she put the crucified to the bullet and set his spoils free. What kind of champion invites strangers to frivolous adventures? Never mind her wit. He should've been insulted.

But Vulpes isn't wrong because he knows. He simply _knows_.

.oOo.

She arrives at Fortification Hill a week later.

She hasn't come alone. There is a man with her, a doctor from the looks of it. Together they traipse through the camp, clinging to each other for fear it would swallow them whole.

She is courteous enough once she reached Caesar's tent. Vulpes doesn't flinch when she shoots swift glances at him that he only caught because he's staring intently. It's simply because she's an outsider before Caesar and he's cautious of any suspicious behavior, nothing more. Her sunbleached hair and flushed skin have nothing to do with it.

His stomach definitely doesn't turn when she approached him, footsteps stilted and her eyes betraying her nerves.

"Fancy seeing you here," she almost sighs.

He pays no heed to her coquetry. "I suspect you will be a valuable asset to the Legion, assuming you're really on our side of course."

Her little smile falls. "Was there something you needed me to do?"

He relays information about Martina Groesbeck, strictly keeping to business. He notes her round amber eyes, her slightly parted lips, the way she hangs on to every word, how irritating they are.

"I'll check up on her for you," her smile returns for a brief moment.

"Good." It was a succinct reply.

An icy silence hangs between them. She clears her throat, careful to avoid his gaze. He can practically feel her shrinking before him. She takes slow steps back, mumbling about something she has to get to, before bolting for the tent flap. She is quick to put herself to work. She drags her doctor into the bunker where they vanish for hours, leaving him to pick their exchange apart.

Vulpes doesn't understand the Courier. He admits to having little understanding of women. His line of work requires him to converse with them on a regular basis, to know how to speak to them, sweep them off their feet, pleasure them if need be. But what women want, what makes them tick, why they do what they do, those things elude him. He's never needed to know them. Though it seems he's not alone in his deficit. Conversations he's overheard many times past while hiding in bars have men drunkenly baffling over angry wives, hysterical mothers, fickle girlfriends, and even a runaway bride. It's apparently not just an issue for men of the Legion but a universal one.

What Vulpes does know well of are slaves, and if the Courier was a slave, she would be no better than a common whore, just another faceless plaything for the camp to relieve their urges on. They would have her slender legs break under strain of heavy cargo in the day and then break her legs again when they rip her slit apart at night.

Though frankly, he tires of such antics. Playing with slaves is well and good when he was a younger man, but nowadays he longs for something else, something… more. He can't quite place a finger on what, but at some point in time, he'd realized that senseless fornication leaves him wanting. Perhaps he's simply growing old, or perhaps he's been spending far too much time with Lucius. That man, despite his rank and prowess, is too romantic for his own good. He talks of family and settling down as if he wasn't a crucial member of the Legion. Men like him – like _them_ – should have no room for idle fantasies.

Yet here he is, thinking about her.

The ground gave a hard shake, and the Courier and her doctor emerge from the bunker shortly thereafter. A ghost of what seems to be mischief washes over her face when she reenters the tent. Nonetheless, Caesar commends her on a job well done, and blesses her with the gift of vengeance, to choose how the prisoner Benny dies.

"Can I set him free?" she asks.

"You need to work on your bloodthirst," Caesar replies. "We won't speak again until Benny is dead. Walk away if you want, but if you do, he's going up on a cross. You're still making a choice."

She bites her lip, but without another word, enters Benny's tent. She isn't in there for long, and eventually she chooses to walk away and leaves the Fort that very night.

Vulpes is glad to see her go. This aimless dance has wasted enough of his time. Why did he ever let such a skittish, tactless profligate of a woman invade his every thought?

The next morning, Benny disappears.

And then he remembers why.


	4. Noli Me Tangere

**IV: Noli Me Tangere**

To describe Caesar as livid is to describe sandstorms as a mild inconvenience.

The good news is Vulpes is right. The Courier has outsmarted them all - and him - once again. Who can tell if her little advances towards him is all part of the act, but one thing's for certain: the Courier makes things happen, but only the things she wants. And Caesar, despite being livid, remains vigilant that she can be persuaded to aid their cause. "One more fucking chance," he says.

The bad news is Vulpes is right. Therefore, he's now tasked to tracking her and finding answers. He feels an odd sense of responsibility for what she's done and how his kin sees her. After all, he is the one who put her forward. If he doesn't alleviate this problem for her sake, then it's for his. Despite what he may put out, Vulpes likes to keep a certain kind of image of wit and acumen. The Courier doesn't help that.

He finds her mopping up a group of Jackals alone. Three out of five have been dealt with. She shoots the Jackal charging for her, straight between the eyes. Another one from behind then bats her weaponed arm, and it sends her pistol flying ten yards away. She stumbles to her side. He swings his bat for another blow, but she shifts her weight and knees him in the flank. He descends in a clumsy fall. The Courier spares no moment to grab him by side of his head and crack his neck.

Victory is clear but she doesn't move. She falls on her knees, her shoulders rising and falling as she pants for air.

Vulpes approaches her, careful steps over severed limbs and other refuse. He sees her puncture a syringe into her thigh, and her breathing evens out. When he gets close, enough for her to hear him, she turns around, eyes hardened and jaw clenched, still high on battle.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding," she says in between ragged breaths. "Are you here to kill me?"

"Perhaps," he answers. "It depends on how well you cooperate."

"Fuck that!" She leaps to her feet and strikes, a clean swing to his jaw. He staggers but recovers not a moment too soon, as he catches her foot going straight for his abdomen. He blocks it with his forearm and, with the other arm, elbows her in the face. He thinks she stumbles to the ground until a fistful of sand greets his eyes.

He flinches. She sweeps her leg beneath him, but he manages to soften his fall by slamming his hands on the ground first, gaining enough purchase to spring himself back upright. This time, he catches her fists when they reach for a straight jab. There was a short battle of wills before her knee aims down below. He kicks it back in time before slamming his head onto hers.

She falls back, and he takes this chance to launch himself forward, palm open, and deliver a sharp blow to her chest. She lands on her back with a heavy grunt.

Gaining the upper hand, he saddles her. He twists her right arm, pins it above her, and locks his other hand on her neck in a vice grip. She grabs his wrist with her free hand but it only served to tighten his hold. She squirms and kicks the air in vain. He places his weight on her thighs to keep her from wriggling away.

"You never cease to surprise me." Vulpes heaves. "But you still can't best a Legionary in unarmed combat."

Defeated, she leans her head back and fights no more. "What do you want?"

"Why didn't you kill Benny?" he squeezes her neck.

She sputters. "I… I wanted to. I was really angry, but I changed my mind."

That's not good enough. "Why?"

"I don't know," she grimaces, choking for air. "The way he just sat there all calm about dying. Made me lose steam."

"You should have let him hang on a cross."

"I don't get off on killing needlessly," she tries for another breath. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"

"Granting the profligates what they deserve? It is what must be done." He leans in closer. "He tried to kill you."

"I know," she gives a weak, apologetic smile. "But turns out he's a smart guy. You don't get a lot of those around here. I thought he deserved another chance."

"You're a brain and a fool at the same time. The weak don't deserve another chance."

Her face softens, the look of surrender melting from her face, replaced by something else. Conviction. "Everyone deserves another chance."

His gaze falls on the scars on her forehead. The Courier is living on another chance, he realizes. He understands on a small level. He remembers being very afraid in a time before he became Vulpes Inculta. His home has been wiped, and his parents are strapped to the cross. He holds his own for a little while, but wit and acumen can only get you so far when you're a scrawny eight-year-old who has lost everything. But the Legion sees his talent, and he becomes one of them. He makes himself great, far greater than he could have been as a backwater tribesman in Utah. Because he's given the chance.

He loosens his hand, and she takes in a sharp breath but doesn't attack. She simply lies there, eyes hooded and never leaving his.

He allows his fingers to crawl to her reddened cheek and settle there. His callused thumb hovers her soft lips. She swallows and he feels the pucker as they close to gently pinch his skin, and then open again to release a warm sigh. He presses them back in an attempt to erase the sensation. She groans at the pressure, and it sends a familiar tick in his loins, one he isn't sure he wishes to associate with this woman.

Her hand, still on his wrist, twitches. She releases her own grip, her weathered fingers stroking the back of his hand, inching upwards, cupping his own hand on her face.

"It's not too late, you know. You can still come with me." She laces her fingers onto his. It was sombre, almost begging.

Vulpes swats her away. She knows nothing of him. The last thing he needs is her pity.

He leaves her.

When night falls, he sets up camp in the open waste. He takes to his routine of washing his hands before settling down. It's a practice he never missed. He likes to think the cool water relieves his hands of the filth of profligates, and the brush scrapes away their blood so that he may be clean.

But tonight, he scrubs his hands until they bleed, until he can no longer feel her lips.

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_A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! Apologies for the slow updates. I'm in the middle of moving and it hasn't been fun. Next chapter will be the Courier's POV. :D Thanks again for reading!_


	5. Rage Against Fortune

_A/N: This chapter has some overlap with the previous one._

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**V: Rage Against Fortune**

Royally pissing people off isn't something Lilka likes to do. That's why she's a courier. She only has one job: deliver the package. Travel to the address, drop off the package, and leave without so much as looking anyone in the eye. It's quick, simple, and easy. She doesn't go on making people mad. That's bad for business and will get her fired. Lilka doesn't want to get fired. She loves her job. It brings opportunities that plowing at dead soil will never grant her. She can wander, take her pick of the men, and see what's left of this gloomy world. The caps are decent too.

Getting shot in the head ruined that perfectly good job. Worse, she can argue, she gets tossed into a world of confusion the moment she wakes up, a world where she's no longer Lilka. She finds that she can't return to being the scrappy little punk shaking the dust of her boots after a long day of trekking, because she isn't just a delivery girl anymore. She is the Courier, with forces pulling her from every direction, dragging her to a role she didn't ask for.

Still, she carries on. She pushes to clear other people's problems in place of her own. Her eagerness can almost turn away the nightmares that fill her sleep. It can almost banish the fear that this is all a crazy dream, that she might wake up back at Goodsprings, buried under the cold desert sands. Her increasing reputation and the perks that follow can almost make her forget that her life is barely hers anymore.

The Vipers are just another day, 's made a lot of enemies. Somebody, or in her particular case, a lot of somebodies want her to stay dead. She supposes it comes with the territory of her influence.

Then he comes, the lottery man as she's come to know him. Fondly, she admits. He comes and kicks her ass, is what he does. He is definitely not just another day, and if there's one problem she can't solve, he would be it. She accepts that her silly infatuation with him could be nothing more than that, and it's not for lack of trying. She's long given up on why she's drawn to him, but she can still enjoy the way he straddles her, at least if he didn't have his hand locked around her neck.

"Why didn't you kill Benny?" he asks. Of course, she tells him nothing.

In reality, she didn't kill Benny because there's still much to know about those securitrons hidden in the Fort, but she wasn't about to tell him that. She knows the Mojave is on the brink of war, and it's the people who suffer. If every faction of New Vegas wants her to decide their entire fate for them, so be it. She can make a future for the people, and she can do it without the strings of the NCR or the Legion.

As for revenge, Lilka learns she simply doesn't have the stomach for it.

Death in the Mojave is a simple fact. This cruel wasteland doesn't choose who dies. You can be cashing in your thousand Gomorrah chips one day and feeding the geckos with your corpse the next. And when it comes for you, you'd best be ready. Mercy will not be your friend.

And then there's Benny. Bloody, beaten Benny. It's so easy to end him. Just pull the trigger on her pistol and send that fucker where he belongs, and yet she doesn't — she _can't_ — do it. Killing him won't change anything. He would be just another number on her count, another man that would keep her up at night, wondering if his death is worth what she's fighting for.

But death is a simple fact. He kills her, she kills him. Then she won't be any different from him, and that thought makes her sick. There's a reason she didn't die that night. There _has_ to be. For all her screw-ups in the past, she was given another chance at life. Who was she to deny that same chance to anyone else? The only thing that keeps her going now is the hope that when all this is over, everything will be different. No more pain, no more loss, no more blood on her hands. A new Vegas means a new life, not just for her, but for anyone who wants it.

"Everyone deserves another chance." _Everyone._

Even this man.

His hand explores her, and she lets him. His stroke sends a flush to her face. She can't remember the last time she's been touched like this. She can almost convince herself that there could be something between them, a hint of connection, a little hope that this man too can turn, just as she is, as the rest of the Mojave is.

Then he pulls away just as quickly as he draws close, and Lilka's heart sinks. He could be yet another one she's put on the outs, another she might lose in this mess called war.

"Don't insult me," he sneers. He rises, stiff and unsure, and she doesn't miss the way he avoids looking at her. She props herself up, rubbing her neck. He turns to leave, but he doesn't seem to be a man who leaves a job unfinished.

"You're not gonna kill me?" she asks.

The lottery man doesn't answer. He only runs until he disappears into the desert haze, and she can do nothing but watch him leave her to her own doubts.

She starts pulling herself together too, ignoring the throbbing sting of her right wrist, where his hand has burned her.

Novac isn't far off. It's well into the night when she arrives, Boone already stationed at his post. Without a word, she climbs up the stairs of the gift shop and takes what little space there is left inside Dinky the Dino's mouth. She doesn't hesitate to sit on the ledge of its mouth, legs swinging out of its teeth, and breathe in the crisp evening.

"That's a bruise you got there," Boone said before turning his eyes back on the road to Nelson.

She lifts her arm against the stars. "Just a little scrap."

The bruise pains for days, but he buys her lie and so does everyone else. Another trivial row, they think, but she knows better. She can see it in the man who marked her, in his eyes, his face, his walk. She's getting through to him.

Lilka needs to piss people off more often.

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_A/N: So this took way longer than it had to. x_x I found myself struggling to get back on the groove after the whole moving debacle. _

_I'm not completely happy with this chapter, so if any of you have constructive criticisms in mind, I would love to hear them. __As always, thank you so much for reading and leaving reviews! The next chapter is mostly written out so that should be up more quickly. :)_


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